the courage of stars
by Mia-Zeklos
Summary: The first - or thousandth, or last, the Doctor doesn't know, she just has the vague impression that it's complicated - time it happens, she isn't really equipped to understand the enormity of the situation.


**Notes: Fun fact: the last time I posted _Doctor Who_ fic, it was three years exactly to the day and now, I'm back to bring more barely comprehensible time-travelling angst for this ship, because alas, some things never change.**

 **An alternative summary for this would have been, _Five times Thirteen almost meets River and one time she does_ , but I tried to refrain from putting it into that sort of frame before, ultimately, doing exactly that. Title taken from Sleeping At Last's _Saturn_ , which never fails to make me think about these two.**

 **Hope you guys enjoy it and feedback is always welcome!**

* * *

The first - or thousandth, or last, the Doctor doesn't know, she just has the vague impression that it's _complicated_ \- time it happens, she isn't really equipped to understand the enormity of the situation.

The site from last night's happenings is still closed off by the local police, but it's easy to lean over the fence and peer inside. The Doctor straightens out as much as she can and is still left disappointed: no matter how thoroughly she looks, there's nothing left that she can see. She's just about to think of a reason to get in and get more readings of the place, just in case - people had always trusted her before when she had tried something of the sort, she's sure of it even if she can't quite recall the way she'd got away with it before - when another one of the onlookers shakes her head.

"There's nothing left," the woman says conspiratorially. She appears to be just as interested, if a little more unbothered by the circumstances. She's livelier than the rest of the bystanders, energetic in the way most people wouldn't be in the face of disaster; her cloud of golden hair floating in each and every direction as she scans the building site yet again. "I wouldn't bother."

"Nothing?" So much had happened. Somehow, she had expected better than that.

"Just the bodies, but they already carried them out. That and the worker from last night, but he was hysteric, so there's not much you can do with that."

 _The bodies_. She isn't trying to be disrespectful - the Doctor can see as much once she looks into the stranger's bright, kaleidoscopic eyes - but there's a certain kind of offhanded nonchalance that feels altogether too familiar – like she's perhaps a Doctor, one of the Earth ones, except she smells and feels nothing like Earth. She's _curious_ , both in her own right and through the Doctor's eyes and the sensations it prompts are confusing: she wants to ask why she's here, what about last night's invasion had been enough to attract the attention of other outsiders, whether the inhabitants of Sheffield are truly safe again, but that all on its own feels like risking their safety all over again.

Because the Doctor _knows_ this woman; doesn't remember how or when or from where, but it's right there, at the tip of her tongue, a name just as vague as the majority of her past is just now.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" The woman asks, as if in echo of her line of thought, and the Doctor shakes her head; non-committal enough to not be a spoiler in case it's important. It's all starting to fall back into place, an awfully long life taking shape in the mess of her head, but there are still missing pieces and by the time she feels like it's finally going to click, the woman scrawls something else in her open notepad, reaches under the sleeve of her coat, and evaporates in a cloud of smoke.

 **-.-**

The second time it's an honest to the Universe accident. The TARDIS seems eager to keep her marooned on Earth, specifically in the United States and her – her passengers, her wanters-to-go-home, that's all they are, really, and it's no use trying to pretend otherwise, are in a good enough mood to want to explore again. Ryan's the first one out of the door, but he freezes just a moment later.

"It's just a kid," he calls out, and then, "Oh my God, she _fainted_. Doctor—"

She's got yet to explain that she's not _that_ kind of doctor and even if it turns out that she can help, she's too slow – Graham and Yaz follow his example before she can stop them and the Doctor follows quickly, hearts both skipping a beat in a way that makes her breath hitch as if she'd been running.

"Stay away." It's a quiet command and they don't listen, _of course_. When do they ever?

"But it _is_ just a kid." Graham picks her up carefully off the ground and now, in comparison to a human, it's easy to distinguish the golden glow emanating from her; the subtle changes in her appearance as it shifts a thousand times per second. He notices it too, soon enough. "I think this is more your speciality, Doc."

It is. It would have been even if the Doctor hadn't been able to identify the situation for what it's shaping up to be, but as it is, "Give her to me." He hesitates and she holds out her arms impatiently. "I'm stronger than I look, Graham, give her to me."

She gets what she wants this time around. It's so _strange_ , to recognise both and neither of the faces she sees shifting over the little girl's features; the altogether too short lives she had had before the ones she had stuck around with. It brings a surge of memories that aren't necessarily welcome, not right now – it's a delicate situation and she can't afford to let it get out of control by getting distracted, but it's quite the challenge. She had always been aware of what _her_ life had been in the years before either of their meetings, but seeing it had made a deep-rooted rage resurface, fierce and overwhelming and all-consuming enough that the Doctor barely hears Yaz when she asks if the girl needs first aid.

"She doesn't." _So young_. A newborn, practically, too young to go through regeneration and come out of it unscathed; too young to control what had happened to her even if she had clearly been given the vaguest explanation possible of the process. "I always wondered how she got home. Should've known it was me."

Isn't it always, one way or another?

"Do you _know_ her?"

"I will."

Ryan had come closer again, full of questions as usual, and the Doctor allows herself a smile. The feverishness of the regeneration is slowly fading away, doubtlessly helped along by the human presence all around, and she brushes a stray lock of newly transformed hair away from her face as she carefully lays her into a nearby chair and sets the coordinates for Leadworth, 1997. _I can't do much, sorry, and it won't help for long, but I'm here for now. You're safe now, Melody_.

To absolutely no one's surprise, the TARDIS listens this time around.

 **-.-**

The third time, the Doctor finds out why River had once mistaken her for someone she'd thought she recognised.

There's a field in front of her, empty at first glance but actually almost crowded when she takes a closer look. It's a _battlefield_ , she realises; deserted but for the dead, the ones left behind, which are as good as dead anyway, and the small group positioned not too far from where she'd stumbled over the nearest hill. They're all huddled together, their clothes thick enough to shield them from the elements unlike her own flimsy coat, but it doesn't take long to see them for what they are. An expedition formed exclusively of archaeologists when they've just started getting to know their craft is rarely easy to miss.

"You're late," a voice calls out towards her, coming from the front of what appears to be an investigative team. And where else? She had always liked taking charge of the things she prided herself for, even back when she hadn't had the experience needed for it to be allowed. "I _specifically_ said we're leaving in ten minutes."

It's early days, definitely. The face is the same as always, of course, but her eyes— it's supposed to be River Song, one of the Luna University's brightest students talking to her, but it's Melody Pond that greets her from her smile. She's not someone the Doctor is technically allowed to miss, but it's not something she's ever tried to fight; a different kind of distant ache when compared to the loss of her wife. River is as timeless as the grief for her, with no end and no beginning to think of, but Melody is a flame in the night; unpredictable and blinding and _explosive_ and gone before you could blink. It's astonishing that the distinction still exists after all those years, but it's not something she can help.

"Sorry," the Doctor says, and means it more than Melody can guess just then. If it's a bit too heartfelt for a fellow student that she had never seen before, they all let it slide – they're nervous enough for themselves to pay much attention to her. Unlike all the times when she'd tried to pick River up from the university before, the Doctor is grateful for how big the Archaeology department is; big enough for no one to notice that she's an outsider. "Didn't mean to keep you waiting."

"I'll allow it," she waves her off easily, face brightening some more as she takes a quick look at the people gathered around her. " _Honestly_ , this is an unsanctioned outing back in time. I wish there weren't so many of you."

The Doctor quickens her pace down the hill and pulls her hood just a little lower over her face against the wind, responding with a grin of her own even though she's turned her back already. It's a lie, of course – River or Melody, she's never been short of admirers in every aspect and had never particularly minded them – but the fondness behind it is enough to hint at the love she'll feel for her profession one day; the love she already feels for what she does. It's infectious and the Doctor makes sure to stay to the back of the group trailing behind her, taking in the scenery while still being as unnoticeable as possible. She can't have her noticing, not now. _Early days_. This is where their combined timeline is as fragile as it gets and even the thought of risking it makes her blood run cold. She doesn't need to go that far. They don't need to introduce themselves all over again. They don't need to talk, even. This is enough. It'll have to be.

 **-.-**

"This is ridiculous."

The Doctor's pen freezes mid-word. "What is?"

"If you want to know more about me, you can just ask," River says, stretching out some more on her cot. She hadn't made the effort to come any closer than that, which is enough to prove the Doctor's suspicions – she's too cautious to go near the bars of her cell, at least for now. "But you can't convince me that any benevolent organisation in the Universe cares enough for the residents of Stormcage to check our quality of life."

"My team does."

" _Really_. What team's that?"

"That's none of your concern." They had offered to come and help once she'd vaguely explained River's case of not entirely justified imprisonment ("So break her out," Ryan had said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world, and had been delighted at the Doctor's retelling of how she'd done just that), but she's _not_ bringing inexperienced space-time travellers in Stormcage when, despite their recent adventures, they have yet to come face to face with anything similarly sinister. It's always better to ease them into it gently. "Now, it says in your file that you're known to use a wide array of long-distance disguised weapons—"

"Oh, yes." In the blink of an eye, she's pressed against where the door should be, her smile challenging and the glint in her eyes far more wicked. "The file's right about _that_. Would you like to know more?"

The Doctor takes a reluctant step back. "That might not be the best idea, considering what I'm seeing here."

The look she receives in return is almost disappointed. "The people who come here because they're interested in my case are usually a little more," she fishes around for the right world for a moment and eventually settles on, "adventurous. That, or they're afraid of me in the exciting way."

"I'm not afraid of you." That's almost a reveal all on its own, really. There aren't many people in any world who can make a claim like that and tell the truth while they're at it. "This is a necessary precaution."

"Wise words from someone interested in genocidal maniacs."

"I'm not interested in genocidal maniacs, I'm interested in _you_."

"You do realise I'm only here for one murder," River reminds her as if she's afraid she might have forgotten. "The last of the Time Lords. The one who wiped out his entire species. You requested an audience with the woman who killed him and you think distance will be enough to protect you?"

"I think," the Doctor starts, cautious and for once, fervently focused on telling the truth, "that if I come any closer - if I touch you - everything would change."

"You are _so_ right," River says with an airy little laugh and it coaxes a smile out of the Doctor as well just before her wife narrows her eyes. "But you need to go. I'm about to have a visitor, I think. Oh, _right_ , the diary. I'll need to check the diary."

She'd sensed the TARDIS's presence, the Doctor supposes, but how? And why now? The questions are useless when she knows she can't ask. Either way, she's out of time – the overhead lights disappear and the whole section starts filling with a fine, nearly imperceptible mist as soon as River gets back to her cot. It's all quickly followed by a voice coming through the nearest speaker attached to the wall.

"Apologies for the interruption. I do realise this is going directly against the purposes of your investigation, but you must understand that these people need to be kept under control."

"So you _sedate_ them?" It's not going to influence her and it's barely going to work on River, but it's a still more of a shock than anything has the right to be after so long.

"It's just to make sure they last the night here and it's only done if they're particularly restless." A short-lived, nasty little chuckle follows as the man obviously remembers the credentials on her psychic paper. "We're only human, Mrs Smith, all I want is to spare myself from a headache or two."

It would be madness to go back to the cell now or try to enter and it would endanger River more than anyone else, so the Doctor steps away. From there, it's back into the TARDIS and away from the peaceful night she'd imagined after satisfying some of her curiosity of Stormcage from a supposed outsider's point of view. She can't have that now, but not all is lost – she steps into the library and scribbles herself a note strong-worded enough that it reaches her decades into the past. That version of her had never been too good at smoothing things out delicately, but he'll have to be now. He had been, if her memory serves her right, and it does – it always does where River is involved.

 **-.-**

"There's a red light at the top." Yasmin hesitates. "It says you've been here before, _many_ times. It's inadvisable to do it again."

"Okay." It's intriguing, but the Doctor doesn't let it take her attention away from the cautious balance she has right under the ceiling where one of the crystals has been pulsing insistently for a while now. "And our location?"

A sigh follows. "It's Kal— Khal— I'm sorry, Doctor, but that's just gibberish."

"Oi!"

"But it _is_. Words are easier, but planet names? None of it makes any sense."

"It will once you get used to it." She had told Yaz everything she needed to know about the complexity of Circular Gallifreyan, but it hadn't been enough to sway her from learning it. The Doctor carefully lowers herself down in the feeble hope that their crystal problem would be solved by whatever the issue with their location is. "Try again."

Another sigh, but Yaz squints at the screen again, refusing to give up just yet – or at all, by the looks of it. "It's Cauldron," she says at last, much more self-assured now. "Cauldron Beta. Breathable atmosphere, acceptable climate. The date is the twenty-first of—"

"Thanks, Yaz." She had been off by just a few letters, but the reading's still accurate enough for the Doctor to realise where they'd found themselves. "We probably _do_ need to go. Quickly."

"Breathable atmosphere and acceptable climate and we won't even check it out?"

Usually, the Doctor would encourage Graham's rare display of exploratory spirit, except, "There's nothing out there. Just a lot of stars." It's a setting that the TARDIS had memorised, apparently, and it's about an hour before the event itself; the one that she and River had witnessed enough times to make arriving yet again a challenge. Her memories of those nights are all over the place, thrown around haphazardly like the pieces of several puzzles trying to fit together. It's River time and time again, that honey-golden hair under the rays of a billion stars; the smile accompanied by enough different feelings to make the Doctor's head spin.

Ryan's the first one to speak. "I don't know about everyone else, but I wouldn't mind a look at the stars."

"Yes, Doctor, come on," Yaz joins in as soon as she looks away from the screen. "It won't even take that long."

It's a dangerous idea, she knows. The last thing this place needs is yet another TARDIS parked on a branch of the very same tree that they'd visited all these times. It's reckless, almost irresponsible. They can't. They _really_ can't.

" _One_ look. Then we're out. Understood?"

The door's open before she can finish her warning and the Doctor looks from afar, awed as she had been the very first time by the sight waiting outside. There's a memory of this too – _"It's nothing," he says, "must be just us again," and receives a mildly exasperated kiss in return. "You_ are _a nostalgic idiot." "Always."_ – but she hadn't known— But of course she had. There had never been a different ending to this story, but the memory of a time when something apart from _us_ hadn't seemed to exist _stings_.

"Come on in," she calls out somehow, words far stiffer than they had been just before they'd arrived. "Time to go."

It really is – it's been time to go since they'd arrived – and while it's painful, what hurts more is the envy for the Doctor sitting several feet and a universe away; the one who can afford to disregard his own future in exchange for a handful of stolen moments.

 **-.-**

Foreign universes can be tricky; the Doctor had come to that conclusion quite a while ago. Not because of the possibility of running into any other versions of herself, although that can also pose a problem, but because of all the _similarities_.

Case in point: there's a TARDIS in front of her – not her own, but nearly indistinguishable. This universe's Sheffield is similar enough to the one she had first landed in for her to send the gang to investigate what could have brought them here to begin with while she did some digging of her own. There's a blaster pointed in her face as soon as the door creaks open. At least one of those things should be out of place, yet it all feels in order, including the rush of unadulterated joy once the entrance opens fully.

"River!"

"Where is she?"

 _That_ does feel a little foreign – the lack of familiarity in River's eyes, as easy as it should be to bear by now. It's enough for her to lose her footing for a moment.

"Where's _who_?"

"The Doctor." At the lack of response, River retracts the gun and motions her inside. Without a second's hesitation, the Doctor follows. There's no reason not to, really – her wife has a TARDIS and a weapon and, if she sticks around for a while, she'll likely find out that she has _answers_ too. She always does, even when there are questions accompanying them. The situation is about to make this universe even more difficult to navigate, she suspects, but steps in all the same.

"I'm the Doctor."

"Oh, I'm sure you are." River slams the door shut and grabs her by the shoulders, leaning in to examine her as carefully as she would a particularly fascinating fossil. "But not the one from around here. _Not_ that I mind having two of you around, but I would also like her back. Now, if you can."

"I'm working on it." It's thoughtless and selfish and as risky as it gets, but it's not her world; its rules don't need to apply to her. The Doctor allows herself to put the thought of her other version aside for just an instant. "River— I have to ask." She needs to know, even if it breaks her heart and the question pushes forward with the kind of blind courage that only River ever brings out of her. "For you and for _her_ — how long has it been since Darillium?"

"It's been ages." _Now_ she's just confused, but willing to listen as she always has been. The hold on her shoulders turns into a soothing caress, one that holds the invitation for more. _If it were her Doctor she was talking to, she would have already gone farther than that_. "Why does it matter?"

"And the Library?"

"The Library was as fascinating as I'm sure it was in your universe, sweetie, but I'm not sure what it's got to do—"

This time it's impossible not to kiss her. It's not going to last forever – it's barely a moment, if she's honest, hardly anything more than the space between two beats of her hearts – but it's enough to bridge the gap between their worlds and when River laughs and kisses her back, the stars finally find their place in the sky again.

It's not forever, but as long as it keeps time moving along, the Doctor finds, it's everything.


End file.
